


love until your heart breaks (there are no guarantees)

by QueenWithABeeThrone



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, F/M, Reincarnation, Reunions, WonderTrev Week 2017, chris pine can sing and i am taking advantage of this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 16:19:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11604297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/pseuds/QueenWithABeeThrone
Summary: He's grown a beard, and his hair is longer and more artfully disheveled than it was when she knew him, but she would know him anywhere. She would know his eyes anywhere, that striking shade of blue that she hasn't been able to find since."Look who just came in," says Gail fondly, unmindful of Diana's internal crisis. "Steve Howard, late as hell, again."or: Steve's in a band in the next life. Diana catches one of their gigs.





	love until your heart breaks (there are no guarantees)

**Author's Note:**

> title (and lyrics in text) from Goo Goo Dolls' "Bulletproofangel".
> 
> [Chris Pine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gd_W9ONihDQ) [can](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sWbpxY_1das) [sing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O9FPKwPLZD0) [really](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2fP8foIynvs) [well.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mcTuKeNSK1k) it makes me angry we as a fandom have not used this to our advantage.

There's a tiny little club in New York City that Diana comes to, when she wants to unwind. It's not because of their drinks, she can't get drunk off the alcohol here if she _tried_ , but they have a stage, a live band, and good music.

They have a variety of singers and bands, coming in and out of the bar, hoping to catch the attention of an agent, or a producer, a writer, someone, anyone who can help them get their big break. Sometimes it works out, and Diana sees the singer leaving, starry-eyed and bright, with someone in a suit and tie. Most times it doesn't.

It's quiet tonight when Diana walks inside. The band's still setting up, and as she passes by the stage she hears the guitarist grumbling about their singer being late again. She doesn't pay them any mind, instead sitting down at the counter and asking for a glass of red wine.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," says a young woman, sliding into the seat next to her. Her hair's cropped short, and there's something hungry in her eyes, in the way she looks at Diana and smiles. "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Diana smiles, tiredly. On another day she would take this woman home, and perhaps something could grow from there, but today? "Drinking and listening to music," she says. "Nothing more."

"You in the market for anything more?" says the woman.

"Not today," says Diana.

"All right," says the woman, her smirk turning into something softer as she holds her hands up. "The music's good too—though, Christ, Howard should really fix that damn watch of his. Keeps turning up late to every gig." She drops her hands, then lifts one again to hold out to Diana for a handshake. "I'm Gail, by the way."

"You're with them?" says Diana. "And it's Diana."

"Sort of," says Gail. "I'm just here for moral support, honestly. No Man's Land is made up of all my friends, and I consider it a duty to come see them."

"How good are they?" Diana asks them. _No Man's Land_ , hah, the things some people will name their bands to make them stand out in the crowd.

"Watch and see," says Gail, head tilting towards the stage. Diana turns, and sees—

—Steve.

He's grown a beard, and his hair is longer and more artfully disheveled than it was when she knew him, but she would know him anywhere. She would know his eyes anywhere, that striking shade of blue that she hasn't been able to find since.

"Look who just came in," says Gail fondly, unmindful of Diana's internal crisis. "Steve Howard, late as hell, _again_."

Diana's tongue is suddenly too heavy in her mouth for her to respond. She lifts her glass of red wine to her lips, takes a sip, and watches this ghost of Steve Trevor tap the microphone, wincing at the feedback.

"Hey, folks," he says. He sounds _exactly the same_. "Sorry I'm late, my watch broke and I haven't gotten it fixed yet." He coughs, and says, "Anyway—I'm Steve, we're No Man's Land, and we'll be your entertainment for tonight."

Diana looks back at Gail, who smiles at the stage, as if happy that her friends are here and singing tonight. "Your friend Steve," she starts.

"I know at _least_ three Steves, for my sins," says Gail. "But I'll assume you meant Howard, so—yes, what about him?"

 _I've seen him before,_ Diana doesn't say. _I've loved him before._ "He reminds me of someone," she says, instead. "I should like to talk with him, after the show."

"Lucky bastard," Gail says, chuckling.

On stage, Steve's saying, "This song's something I wrote for—someone I dream about. Someone I used to know." He runs his teeth over his lower lip and says, "It's called 'Bulletproof'." He nods to the people behind him, and starts to sing, softly, " _I see her every morning in the middle of the street—_ "

She didn't know he could _sing_ , and so well at that. She wonders, briefly, how long it had been since he'd last sung like this for anyone, when she knew him. Maybe not in years, like Charlie. Maybe he'd forgotten how.

She wants to hear him sing again. To her. She wants to ask him who he dreams about, who his songs are for.

"He writes a lot of songs about this girl he dreams about," says Gail, snapping Diana out of her thoughts. She shrugs, as if to say, _what can you do?_ "Writers, man."

_Angel, you're bulletproof, you're so high, you see the truth—and I'm stuck on the ground pretending I, that I could be like you._

\--

"Swear to fuck, Steve," says Charlie, slinging his guitar over his shoulder as they descend from the stage, packing their things up for the night, "you have _really_ got to fix that bloody watch of yours."

"I'm trying!" Steve huffs.

"Not hard enough," says Sammy, singsong as he sticks his drumsticks in his back pocket. "Hey, Steve, did you notice that woman looking at you the whole night? The one with Gail?"

Steve almost stumbles, but recovers quickly and says, "Really?" He _had_ noticed her, from the minute he walked into the room and seen her face, but he's pretty sure _I was watching her the whole night and she didn't move from her spot_ is grounds for relentless teasing from the rest of his bandmates.

"Betcha she's an agent," says Sammy.

"Betcha she _ain't_ ," Charlie grumbles.

"Betcha she's coming this way," says Candy, their bassist. "Look, here she is now!"

"Oh, _shit_ —"

Sammy whistles, long and low. "What a work of art," he murmurs.

"Shut up, Sammy, she's not a painting," Steve hisses. To the woman, he says, "Uh, hi?"

The woman stares at him for a moment, as if she's looking at a ghost. Funny, Steve kind of feels like that too. "I enjoyed your song," she says, at last. "'Bulletproof', was it?"

"Uh, yeah," says Steve, relaxing. He'd been agonizing over whether to put that first or not, but Candy had told him that it was the best one he had, and certainly the most radio-friendly song he'd written about the angel from his dreams. "Thanks. I wrote it for someone I used to know."

The woman smiles, soft and sad. Steve's heart twists into a knot. "I think she would've enjoyed it as well," she says.

"He wrote it for his dream lass," says Charlie.

"Oh, shush, he's trying to get _laid_ ," Sammy whispers.

"I can hear you both," says Steve.

The woman laughs, and it sounds like music. "These are your friends?" she says.

"I'm Sammy," says Sammy. "This grumpy rascal here is our guitarist Charlie—"

"Candy," says Candy. "Well, really it's _Etta_ , but Candy's a better stage name. Oh, and you met Gail!"

"Steve," says Steve, holding out his hand for her to shake. "Steve Howard."

The woman smiles, and takes his hand. It feels familiar, feels like he's come home at last, yet somehow at the same time new, like he's exploring new territory. "Diana Prince," she says, and in the dim barlight, Steve thinks she looks like an angel. "It's a pleasure to meet you."


End file.
